heavenly virtues
by Sora G. Silverwind
Summary: catitas. frenum. liberalitas. industria. patientia. humanitas. humilitas.
1. catitas

**heavenly virtues**  
_**by Sora G. Silverwind**_

**Summary****: catitas. frenum. liberalitas. industria. patientia. humanitas. humilitas. **

**Rating****: PG-13 for language n' stuffs.**

**Author's notes****: And here are the counterparts to the deadly sins! Yeehaw. Watch out for more instances of "WTF THIS WASN'T IN CANON!!1111eleventyfour!!1"**

**Disclaimer****: DISCLAIM THIS, BETCHES.**

**Special thanks to****: Vanessa Carlton's "Heroes and Thieves" album.**

B-O-M-B

_**catitas - chastity**_

B-O-M-B

Zoniha found him, as always, working at the kitchen table in near total darkness.

"Okay, look," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "I know you're a bat in a human's body and all that, but really, if you keep on doing this, you're going to go blind." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And then how will you appreciate my blinding beauty?"

No response from Regulus—which was a pretty standard response.

Zoniha shrugged, then poked at the air to produce little luminescent globes of soft blue light from her fingertip. She shooed them in his direction. "Hey...are you all right?" she asked, squinting at his features illuminated by the light of the Seekers. "You're looking a little...um...something...than usual."

"I'm fine," he said firmly.

Not convinced, Zoniha promptly walked over and sat next to him. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Nothing. Standard fare from Albereo's remaining family. They're still not happy that I offed his son and took over for him in the Phoenix."

Zoniha glanced over at Regulus' laptop, where various profiles on different underground persons of interest were pulled up. There was also a half-finished e-mail addressing one of Regulus' subordinates on a recent job, which Regulus was currently working on. "Okay, I'll grant you that—old man Creone never struck me as being particularly dangerous, just annoying as hell. You can deal with him easy enough, and if you need me to clean up any of your mess I'll do it. But you still look like crap."

"I'm perfectly fine."

A thought struck Zoniha. She placed the back of her hand against Regulus' forehead. "Oh, geez!" she exclaimed. "You're freakin' burning to death inside!"

"Zoniha, I would appreciate it if you—"

"Dragged your admittedly fine ass off to bed? Yeah, I'd appreciate it too!"

"_Zoniha._"

The mild irritation in his voice was enough to make Zoniha flinch back. "Fine," she muttered, glaring at him. "Work yourself to death, you bastard. See if I care. But will you at least drink something?"

"Whatever you think would be best."

Zoniha rolled her eyes. "Oh, trust me, you just turned down the best." But she went to pour a glass of the coldest water she could get. She set it down on a napkin nearby. Regulus took a sip from it without looking at her even once. Zoniha continued to stare at him intently; he continued composing his e-mail.

A minute passed.

Zoniha slowly reached out again to touch his face—

"Cornelia Detlin is becoming dangerous," Regulus said.

Her hand froze in the air. She slowly lowered it. "The singer? Really? That vacuous thing that old man Creone calls his girl-pet?"

"She has connections to money and persons of influence. She hasn't the brain cells to understand fully the implications of her position, and I highly doubt she'll ever get any. But there are those in the Creone family who already know how useful she is—and will wring every last ounce of usefulness from her. In fact, I think one of them has already started."

Zoniha frowned. "The bitch."

"Rigel's wife? Yes, considering that Rigel is starting to descend into senility."

She traced out Regulus' name in the dew starting to condense on the side of the water glass. "Then maybe it would be...fortunate...if something happened to the bitch instead. She'd deserve it."

"No. The Creones already have a number of friends who want me gone as a result of killing Albereo. I'd prefer not to provoke them unless I absolutely have to."

"And getting Cornelia out of the picture won't piss them off?"

Regulus finally made eye contact with Zoniha. "Not if it was an undeniable accident."

Silence.

"...well, then." Zoniha stood up. She took a ponytail holder from her jean pocket and pulled her hair back into a rough bun at the base of her neck, then strode over to snatch up her handbag from the leather couch. "It's nice outside, you know. I'll head out to the store to pick up more of that...whatever chocolate it is that you've been wanting lately. I'll be back as soon as possible."

As Zoniha was about to leave the condo, Regulus said, "I'll lie down in a couple of minutes. Basrick and Solteira should be informed of new developments."

Zoniha smirked at him over her shoulder. "Finish your water while you're at it, too, you ass."

"As you wish."


	2. frenum

B-O-M-B

_**frenum - temperance**_

B-O-M-B

"Behemos?" Baelfael called out as he stepped into the house. "Behemos, I'm here, like you asked. What did you—"

He suddenly stopped in his tracks.

The living room of the elder Nox household was splattered in blood. Namely, the blood of Behemos' parents, Ymusaisi and Dimaeus Nox, whose mutilated bodies were sprawled on the carpet. Ymusaisi's left arm and Dimaeus' right leg were missing. Both had had their eyes gouged out.

Baelfael clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a string of expletives.

Behemos stepped solemnly into the room, his eyes wide with disbelief—probably the most uncharacteristic expression one could conceive of for him. In his arms, he cradled a sleeping three-month-old Moira, his baby sister. "Emeiyo..." he said. "He got them."

Baelfael knew. "For what happened last month."

"And if I hadn't agreed to take Moira in while Saisi and Dimi were working on the kitchen for this week, he would have...would have..." Behemos clutched Moira closer to him. Moving as though he were walking through water, he approached the grisly scene in the living room. He didn't flinch or look away; he took everything in as though it were landscape. "I knew it," he murmured. "I knew this would catch up with me later."

"I believed I warned you about something similar a few weeks ago," Baelfael said, then grimaced at the obviousness in his words.

Surprisingly, Behemos didn't lash out with his usual retort. "My luck was bound to run out sooner or later," he continued. "But I didn't realize...I didn't think..." He suddenly whirled on Baelfael. "I can't do this, Bael. I just can't."

"It'll be fine," Baelfael said uncertainly.

_"No it won't, you sheltered little pansy boy!"_ Behemos yelled at him, nearly hysterical. "My parents were just murdered by a rival and there might be a snitch in the Basilisk Cross and Susia might be dying if not dead already and now I have to raise a kid in these streets _and you think it's going to be all right?"_

Moira suddenly gave a muffled cry, awakened by Behemos' tirade. Behemos quickly set to work trying to calm her down, stroking her cheek and trying—rather awkwardly—to rock her back to sleep.

Baelfael took off his glasses and cleaned them with the bottom of his shirt. "If you're feeling inadequate about your child-rearing abilities, perhaps there is a relative that can take care of Moira...?"

"Like hell! I'm not letting Moira out of my sight after this shitfest, I'm telling you that right now."

"But didn't you just say that you—"

"Hey, come on, I'm being responsible by deciding to take care of her, aren't I? Isn't that what they always say is the 'responsible' thing to do in situations like these?"

"Depends on who 'they' are." A pause. "Well, it's your choice. You know best what you want to do with your life now. If you need my help for anything, you know where to find me."

Behemos raised an eyebrow. "And _you_ would know something about dealing with a kid?"

"I would estimate that it's probably about as much as you know."

"Which is to say, not a single damn thing."

"Fairly close, yes."

Behemos snorted. He sat down on the only clean chair in the room, and whispered something to Moira that made her giggle before he addressed Baelfael again. "Look, I...I know it's a lot to ask, and I've given you a lot of shit over the years. But..."

"It'll be _fine_." Baelfael smiled and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "You're underestimating yourself and your resources, you know. Certainly more than a few of the female Basilisks will be enthusiastic about having Moira around. And I don't believe you'll have to worry about the financial end of it, if I'm parsing your end of things correctly."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." A sarcastic look. "You're always right, aren't you?"

"About ninety-five percent of the time, I'd like to think."

"And a smart-ass to the end." Behemos got up and—with some reluctance—handed Moira to Baelfael, who took her as though he were handling a nuclear weapon. "Take care of her, will you? I need to do some clean-up, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Right. You'll need to get the police over here."

"What! Are you kidding me?"

Baelfael glared. "I thought you were saying that you wanted to go legit soon."

"But—"

"I know you're far from pleased with this turn of events, but will you at least start trying for Moira's sake? At least notify the authorities. Then you can do whatever it is that you want to do, but don't cover this up. It'll make _you_ look suspicious, among other things."

"...argh, fine. I hate it when you make sense. Just head back to my place—all of Moira's stuff is there. You might have to feed her soon, so check the kitchen for the bottle and the formula and crap like that."

"Yes, Mr. Mom."

"Bael, get the hell out of my sight before I hit you with Blizzard Dragon."


	3. liberalitas

B-O-M-B

_**liberalitas - charity**_

B-O-M-B

Baelfael patted six-year-old Moira on the head. "All right, now. Two plus two."

"Four. Duh." Moira stuck her tongue out at him.

"Eight multiplied by eight?"

"Sixty-four."

"Thirty-five by nineteen."

"Six hundred and sixty-five." Moira pronounced each syllable like a separate word.

Baelfael took a breath. "How many minutes in one-third of an hour?"

"What?"

"Sixty divided by one over three."

"Oh. Twenty."

"How many seconds in four days?"

Two seconds' pause. "Five thousand, seven hundred and sixty."

Baelfael leaned back in his seat and glanced over at Behemos cleaning his Tendall 480. "Bem, you have to send her to school. She's far too smart to be stuck here all the time."

Behemos snorted. "And leave her out in the open for anyone to take a shot at her? Forget it. What can school teach her, anyway? She doesn't need that crap. She needs to know _real_ things, not whatever the hell it is that they teach kids in school."

Baelfael let out a sigh. "If that's how you're going to be...then _I'll_ teach her."

A derisive laugh from the Lord of the Frozen Wastes. "You? You're never around! You're always doing your what's-it-called academic crap! Nose stuck in a book or to a computer screen or whatever."

"Then I'll take a break from my 'academic crap'. I refuse to have Moira's talent wasted."

"Hmph! It's your funeral. But I don't see what you could teach her that could be so important."

"You would be surprised." Baelfael reached out a hand to Moira. "Would you like to see something cool, Moira?"

Moira took his hand and clasped it tightly. "Like what?"

"Like, perhaps...making a penny into a radio? Or changing milk into plastic? Or extracting water and electricity from thin air?"

Behemos gave Baelfael an incredulous look.

Moira arranged her features into a deep-thinking expression. "But why would you want to change milk into plastic?" she asked, blinking up at Baelfael.

"You tell me," Baelfael said as he led Moira away.


	4. industria

B-O-M-B

_**industria - diligence**_

B-O-M-B

"Ashtarth."

Ashtarth looked up from sweeping the floor of Procne's shrine. "Oh, your Highness!" He genuflected in respect. "The sun's barely up—I wasn't expecting anyone."

Queen Draegaria of Philomel smiled, pristine and composed even at this early hour. "I merely wanted to check on how you were doing before the whole of Philomel descended upon you."

Ashtarth gestured. "Well, I'm just doing the weekly cleaning right now, and trying to figure out where to place all of these offerings." He gestured at the flowers, plates of food, decorative boxes, and other miscellany that were currently pushed up against the stone walls of the shrine, lining the entire sanctum. "There's a fair amount of them, as you can see...it's rather overwhelming."

"Philomel wishes to thank Procne for bringing you to them. They're grateful for you."

Ashtarth seemed surprised at this, but masked it with a laugh. "That's the first time I've ever heard of anyone being grateful for my existence."

Draegaria regarded Ashtarth with a curious look, but didn't remark on his words. "What of Procne? Is she pleased?"

"As far as I can tell, she's not angry, at least. There isn't anything she needs to tell Philomel as a whole."

"It would stand to reason that she's content. After all, she has you as her Channeler."

Now Ashtarth was positively blushing. "Y-Your Highness," he stammered, "I'm honored that you approve of my work, but it's nothing...it's just..."

"It's just 'what', fledgling?"

Ashtarth snapped to attention at Draegaria's use of the term, reserved for addressing children in the settlement of Philomel. "Your Highness? Did I do something wrong?"

Draegaria shook her head. "Fledgling, you must learn to accept your gifts," she said. She stepped forward and laid both of her slender hands on his shoulders. "It is a good thing to be humble, but to be too humble is to insult the intelligence of those who admire you."

Gripping the handle of his broom, Ashtarth nodded, keeping his gaze respectfully averted from Draegaria's.

"Please believe me when I say that you have done great things in Philomel already, and that you shall continue to impress everyone. The fact of the matter is, you are an outsider who has earned the respect—even love—of Philomel. That alone speaks volumes." Draegaria kissed him gently on the forehead, then turned to leave. "I shall break my fast now. I may return later today. Will you be needing help preparing for the Day of Eternal Flight?"

"Perhaps," Ashtarth admitted.

"Then I will bring help with me when I visit you later. Until then." She smiled. "And don't work too hard."

Ashtarth laughed again and continued sweeping, catching some dried leaves in the bristles of the broom. "With all due respect, your Highness, isn't that what I'm here to do?"

"You don't mind it?"

"I love it."


	5. patientia

B-O-M-B

_**patientia - patience**_

B-O-M-B

"Again."

Ten swishes of a sword through the air, accompanied by light footsteps on a mat and a final yell.

"Good. Again."

Fourteen-year-old Rukifellth threw Molok a weary look. "But I've already done this, like, a hundred times already!"

"You don't even begin to master something until you perform it at least five hundred times."

The horrified look on Rukifellth's face was priceless. "What? That's ridiculous! That's _way_ too many times to be doing any one thing!"

"It's life. Crane strike number two, again."

Rukifellth frowned. "I'm tired. Can't I take a break?"

"Give me five more crane strikes—_good_ ones, mind you—and then you may rest."

Grumbling something under his breath that sounded like "freakin' slave driver," Rukifellth complied with the orders of his teacher.

Molok watched each iteration of the form with a master's eye. "You're still stepping too far to the outside," he warned. "That gives your opponent too much room to maneuver, and you waste too much energy trying to step back in behind your opponent."

Rukifellth scowled, almost hurling his practice rapier down to the ground. "How the hell am I supposed to tell if I'm stepping too far?"

"If your pants feel like they're going to tear apart between your legs, you're stepping too far." Molok picked a practice rapier off from a wall rack and settled into a stance. "Come at me. Stop when I tell you to stop."

Rukifellth did, freezing himself into a vaguely-uncomfortable looking position. Molok demonstrated his point by waving his rapier in the space between himself and Rukifellth. "See? With all this space between yourself and your opponent, you start to lose control of the fight. And considering that I'm no pixie, you're stepping pretty far if you're leaving this much space." He relaxed himself. "It all comes with practice. You need to feel comfortable with the actual moves first. Then comes learning how to gauge your opponent."

"So, like, how long are you sticking around?"

"Hmm?"

Rukifellth crossed his arms. "How long are you staying with us?"

Molok shrugged. "It depends if your father approves of your progress in the sword arts, at least from what I understand."

"Pah. Swords are boring!" Rukifellth pointed his rapier at nothing in particular, holding it like a rifle. "I wish my dad would let me use a gun. They're faster anyway, and they take less work."

Molok chuckled, trying to decide whether he wanted to be amused or depressed at Rukifellth's sentiment. "No one wants to work for prestige these days, it seems..."


	6. humanitas

B-O-M-B

_**humanitas - kindness**_

B-O-M-B

Zhael had not been prepared to run into Lilith when she visited Rukifellth's mansion that day.

Well, technically, what she had not been prepared to run into was a _crying_ Lilith.

"Oh. Zhael." Lilith actually seemed to cheer up at bit at Zhael's presence, but she was still sniffling. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "What brings you here?"

"I was...um...wondering if..." Zhael hesitated on her original words as she took in the tears still pooling in Lilith's eyes. "I was wondering if...you wanted to go out somewhere."

Lilith blinked. "Like where?"

"Maybe that new restaurant that just opened up near the museum? It looks good. I've been wanting to check it out, but I didn't really want to go alone, you know? Are you up for it? You look upset."

"I'm fine. It's just Rukifellth being stupid again."

"Can I ask what happened?"

Lilith bit her lower lip. "It's...it's fine," she said. "Maybe I'm being stupid, too."

"Where is he, anyway?"

"Out with a friend. He didn't tell me until he was getting ready to leave this morning."

Zhael blinked. "A 'friend'?"

"A girl he's known since he was little. I think her name was Nerutia."

Zhael frowned. "She sounds highborn."

Lilith gave a hollow laugh. "Of _course_ she's highborn. Who do you think Rukifellth is?"

Zhael immediately saw the problem. "Oh, no," she started. "You don't think that he...?"

"Yes. No." Lilith sighed. "I don't really know, to be honest." She ran a hand through her hair. "Sorry...I didn't mean to unload on you like that."

Zhael shook her head. "It's fine." She smiled. "But this means that you really should go out, then. You should forget about him for a little while."

"I know." Lilith suddenly gave Zhael a hug. "Thanks a lot, Zhael. You're a sweetheart."

Zhael giggled and returned the hug, patting Lilith on the cheek. "Less flattering, more eating. Get yourself cleaned up and we'll head out. The meal's on me."

"Oh, you don't need to do that, we just...I just got paid, you know, and I can pay for the both of us easily..."

"How about this, then: I'll pay for the meal, but when we go on our mega shopping spree afterwards, you're paying for whatever you buy."

"But what if I don't buy anything...?"

Zhael grinned. "Oh, you're going to buy something. I'll make you buy something. You _need_ to buy something to chase away your boy blues. Now get changed. The more time we have to crash the stores, the better!"


	7. humilitas

B-O-M-B

_**humilitas - humility**_

B-O-M-B

Bomberman hadn't changed much since Regulus had last seen him. No surprise there: Bomberman's kshar'walti status afforded him the luxury of aging at a significantly slower rate than most mortals. He'd chosen to grow out his hair (it now hung past his shoulders), but otherwise he looked the same as he did eight years ago.

He walked differently, though, Regulus noticed as Bomberman approached him in the cafe with a pink-haired boy of about five or six in tow. Still humble—_always_ humble—but now there was an undercurrent of confidence and hardiness in his gait, rightly earned from having seen Hell and utterly conquering it, leaving its bloodied corpse for the vultures of Time to scavenge. Warrior prodigy, savior of the universe, fire kshar'wa, and now father: Shiro Yogeki was _not_ to be trifled with.

"You might want to ping Zhael on that telepathy network of yours and tell her that you're not going to send me to the shadow realm," Bomberman said as he and the boy took a seat across from Regulus. "She was more than a little worried when you called the house last week asking to meet with me."

Regulus eyed the boy playing a portable gaming console to Bomberman. "I'm going to assume that this is your son?"

"Yeah. His name's Mattias. Zhael had to leave today for her latest tour, so I had to bring him with me here. Mattias, say hi to Regulus. He's an old friend of mine."

Mattias only had to look up once from his game to make his assessment. "You're scary."

Regulus couldn't help it—he cracked a faint smile. "I assure you that that's not the first time I've been told that."

Bomberman rolled his eyes and ruffled Mattias' hair. "He has no concept of tact, honestly. I don't know where he gets it from. You want anything, kiddo? Like a frostie or anything?"

"M'fine."

"You're about as talkative as Regulus over there." To Regulus: "Hold on, I'm going to go get some coffee. I haven't had my caffeine fix today."

Yes, Bomberman was definitely far more confident than he used to be. Eight years ago he wouldn't have thought of cracking a simple joke like that to Regulus' face. Perhaps it also helped that Regulus no longer wished to kill him, or to even defeat him. After seeing the full extent of Bomberman's abilities eight years ago, there seemed to be not much point in re-challenging him.

Stranger things had happened...but not many.

And another strange thing was about to happen.

Bomberman returned a few minutes later with a small cup of Danaspiran blend. He snatched a couple of creamers from the container in the middle of the table and dumped them into the drink. "All right," he said after taking an experimental sip and deciding that his coffee needed sugar as well. "You didn't call me here just to socialize, did you?"

"No."

"Then?"

The unspoken reason hung painfully in the air like a torture victim.

"...I require your talents for something."

Bomberman stared at Regulus in disbelief just as he was about to take a second sip of coffee. Another change: he seemed to have developed an intuitive sense of timing with regards to surprises that allowed him to avoid choking on random beverages. "What?"

"It is as I said. I'll warn you—though it may already be quite obvious—that what I'm going to eventually ask you to do is not wholly legal. At the very least, you will most likely end up in a number of...ambiguous situations, shall we say."

Bomberman shrugged. "If I have to go back to Calerodinia for whatever you need me to do, I'm probably still a wanted man over there, so it wouldn't matter too much."

"To be sure, you're still officially on the Obsidian Phoenix's watch list after that little stunt you pulled back during the BHB days. But that's been dealt with for the time being."

Bomberman swirled his coffee with a green plastic stirrer. "Do you need me to do this right away?"

"I would prefer it as soon as it can be arranged."

"What's the problem, anyway?"

"Zoniha seems to have somehow irritated someone who would love to see me dead for reasons not related to my managing the Obsidian Phoenix. Said someone, however, has shown himself to be more than willing to use Zoniha—and perhaps the rest of the Phoenix—to get to me. I'm not_too_ concerned about losing control of the Phoenix, and Zoniha is a capable woman on her own, but there are things that cannot be fully accounted for."

Bomberman seemed ready to voice his thoughts on what he thought those things were, but evidently decided not to push his luck. "You're not telling me that you want me to be Zoniha's _bodyguard?_"

"No. She would not be pleased if I did such a thing, and it is far from necessary anyhow. But I can't divulge everything right now—you'll have to see me in Cerbera for the rest of it."

Another pause as Bomberman considered Regulus' request. "I hope you have a backup plan," he finally said. "I honestly don't know if I can take on this. It would have been fine if it was just me and Zhael, but..." He gestured to Mattias beside him, whose mind was firmly absorbed in the video game in his hands.

"Understood." Regulus stood up. "I will call you again in three weeks."

As Regulus walked away, a worried look crossed Bomberman's face. "What in the galaxy could be so dangerous that the Prince of Shadows has to ask _me_ for help?" he asked himself, bewildered.

B-O-M-B

**Not my bestest writings evar (especially chapter six of this thing, ugh), but a fun experimental thinky thought exercise. And to anyone who was confused at the content of the first chapter, well...how the **_**hell**_** do you write anything about chastity with someone like Zoniha? So instead you get vague Zoniha/Regulus stuff. Because you can never have enough of that. (...I think.)**

**Also, regarding Regulus' reference to Bomberman's "kshar'walti" status, that's something that'll be explained in maybe the next year or so when I get around to finishing **_**Fateful Meetings**_** and then doing its sequel, **_**Darker Side of Light.**_

**Review if you will, flame if you must. **

**-Sora G. Silverwind**  
_**like I've found some kind of fairytale**_


End file.
